Today is my due date and I think I have officially come off my rocker. The rational side of my brain understands that a due date is an educated guess that shouldn't really matter. But the pregnant, hormonal side says that it's now been 40 weeks, my timer has dinged so where is my baby?!
I find myself retreating into solitude these days. Every time I venture out, even just to get vitamins, I either get a slack-jawed stare (directed straight at my balloon belly) or I get the lame dog sympathy look. Both now drive me crazy. And that's without the constant comments about how I should enjoy these final days and how sensual a pregnant woman is. I've ceased to become a customer, a neighbour, another person on the street. Now I'm "a pregnant woman." My belly defines who I am, how people interact with me, the conversations I have...and quite frankly, I'm tired of it.
And so, a warning for all of you who will potentially talk to me, call me, email me, or FaceBook me in the next two weeks: please do not talk about the baby or my pregnancy. Whatever you do, don't ask me if I've had the baby yet. Trust me, when I do, you'll know. And for heaven's sake, do NOT tell me to enjoy it, predict the baby will come a week from now, or tell me how big I am. Talk to me about politics, the news, celebrity gossip, or pretty much anything except reminding me that I'm still pregnant.